


Special Tactics Squad 1-17

by Knave1363



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:11:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knave1363/pseuds/Knave1363
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Clone Wars, the Grand Army of the Republic was used to fight major battles. The Republic Commando squads were used for special operations, as were the Advanced Recon Commandos (ARCs). But there have come up missions that neither the GAR nor the Republic Commandos were suited for. So the Special Tactics Squads were created. Eight-person squads of clone troopers cross-trained for special operations, they operate in a fashion similar to RCs, but usually travel with GAR units. STS 1-17 is one of the best squads in the Special Brigades. This is a chronicle of one of their missions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Tactics Squad 1-17

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Star Wars or anything associated with it. I do not own the Galactic Republic, the Seperatists, the Jedi, and so on. All I own are the characters of Special Tactics Squad 1-17, General Monka Monka of the Seperatists, Master Bel Rof, and Padawan Askara Jento. And if any of you want to use them, ask me first.  
Author's Note: Special Tactics Squad 1-17 consists of Chief (CT-1543), Thirteen (CT-1313), Whacker (CT-5505), Sabre (CT-6674), Falcon (CT-6675), Hunter (CT-4509), Pillar (CT-2552), and Cryo (CT-0104). Sergeant Kal Skirata was the primary training sergeant for STS/1-17.

 

Special Tactics Squad 1-17  
"No Falling Back"  
Formulca, Tarsis System

"We're nearing the battle zone now, sir," the clone pilot of the LAAT/i radioed back to the Jedi master in the troop bay.  
"Good man," Master Bel Rof replied. The gray-haired human Jedi looked over the troop compartment of the troop transport. With him and his padawan were two squads of clone troopers. But these weren't any ordinary clones; nor were they the more independent Republic Commandos or the covert ops ARC troopers. These 16 clones were from the Grand Army of the Republic's Special Tactics Command. More independent than the regular clones, but less so than the RCs, STC clones were intended for special operations in support of the main army. Inserted into battle zones ahead of line combat units, STC clones were deployed in two-squad formations, up to a company in size. Like normal clones, STC clones had started with the Phase I armor; however, unlike the GAR or the RCs, STClones never upgraded the external appearance of their armor; each pair of ST squads had had a Mandalorian as their primary training sergeant. The Phase I armor was the closest in appearance to the Mandalorian armor, so STclones never changed that. Everything else was upgraded, though. The primary color of STC armor was a broken-patterned black-and-dark-gray scheme; secondary colors were used to individualize each squad.  
"Alright, boys, we're five to dirt," Master Rof told them. He was informal with everyone who knew him, and the two squads with him - Special Tactics Squads 1-17 and 1-32 - had been his since he had learned of the GAR's existence. He despised the use of clones, not because he hated them, but because they were essentially a slave army that few other Jedi thought to question. He loved his soldiers like they were his own sons, and often placed himself in harm's way to ensure they survived. Because of this, they were willing to throw themselves into harm's way for him. As Thirteen of 1-17 had said, "He may be jetii by training, but he's Mando to us."  
"You mean the ride's over?" asked CT-6675, Falcon. "But we didn't get our free in-flight movie."  
"What would you know about an in-flight movie, free or otherwise?" retorted CT-5505, Whacker. "Your idea of a normal movie are those after-action mission vids from the GAR."  
"Alright, can it, you di'kut," Master Rof said, smiling. His troopers appreciated that not only did he respect the culture they'd been given by Sergeant Kal Skirata, but that he'd willingly picked up Mando'a - as well as other aspects of the Mandalorian culture. "Gear check!" Immediately, the sixteen soldiers began disassembling and reassembling their weapons and supplies. Then they passed their gear over to a squadmate and disassembled then reassembled it. Then came an armor check. Their suits may look like Phase I models, but they were equipped with top-of-the-line electronics and systems. Everything checked out one hundred percent.  
"Incoming fire, sir. Executing evasive manuevers." A pause. "Sir, we getting redeployment orders. Battalion command is requesting a drop on a Seperatists C-and-C facility, per your approval."  
"Take us there, Hawx," Bel Rof replied.  
"As you order, sir," the pilot replied. The LAAT/i began banking while evading the anti-air fire, heading towards where BatCom (Battalion Command) believed the Seperatist Command and Control Center to be. This mission would be better suited to a Commando unit, Bel thought. Then he caught sight of his padawan. "Are you alright, Askara?" he asked.  
"I'm fine, Master," she replied, though the young human girl looked anything but. One of the clones from 1-17, Thirteen judging from the number painted onto his right shoulder pauldron, removed his helmet and cleared his throat. "Ma'am?" he said, drawing everyone's attention; Thirteen rarely spoke outside of the mission, so his speaking now drew everyone's attention. He held out a military-issue stim pack. "We all take one before a mission," he said softly. "Everyone knows clone pilots are crazy, and no one wants to lose it in their shabla helmet. Sorry for the language." It was the most he'd said at once, and everyone was surprised, even his squad brothers. The young Jedi smiled hesitantly and took the pack. "Thank you," she said to him. He shrugged and said, "J'hagwa na yoka." When the padawan looked confused, Thirteen looked to the side. "Sorry, Commander," he said. "It . . . basically means 'no problem.'"  
"Oh," she said thoughtfully.  
"It's Huttese, Commander," CT-1543, Chief, the leader of Squad 1-17, said. Before anyone could say or add anything more, a sharp bang! resonated throughout the troop compartment.  
"Incoming fire is intensifying, General Rof," the clone pilot, Hawx, said calmly. "Oh, osik."  
Just then a massive explosion shook the entire LAAT/i, knocking everyone against their restraints. Bel Rof knew what had happened, thanks to the Force; their pilot was dead. "Alright, everyone, we're executing an uncontrolled descent."  
"Oh, I thought we were crashing," said CT-4509, Hunter.  
"That's what he said, di'kut," replied Sabre.  
"Brace for impact!" Rof yelled, three seconds before the flaming Republic Gunship slammed into the surface of Formulca at two-thirds its maximum speed.

Thirteen blinked, wondering when night had fallen. Then he realized his helmet was rebooting when his vision flickered and cleared. He groaned, then shook his head. He began taking stock on his condition, seeing if anything was broken or torn. To his surprise, he found that other than a sprained tendon in his left leg, he was fine.  
"Good. You're awake," came a voice from his right, broken up by coughing. Looking, he saw it was General Rof.  
"Sir!" he said in alarm, once he'd realized the Jedi's condition. His left arm had been ripped from his body, and what looked like a piece of the gunship's internal framework was embedded within his abdomen. Thirteen moved to grab his medpack, but was stopped by the general's wave.  
"It's too late for me, Thirteen," he said, coughing up blood this time.  
"I'm sorry, sir."  
"You did nothing wrong, ad'ika," Bel Rof told him. Even if Thirteen had wanted to, he couldn't say a word. The general had just called him 'son'. Then it came to him.  
"Jatne'buir darasuum," he said softly, which was Mando'a for 'best father forever'. Bel's eyes widened in surprise and became misty. He shakily reached up a bloody hand and laid it upon Thirteen's shoulder.  
"If I knew the words," Bel said in a faint, croaking voice, "I would adopt all of you as my sons, though it isn't the Jedi way."  
"That you want to is enough, Bel'buir," Thirteen replied. Then, sensing that the general didn't have much time left, he decided to say something that Sergeant Kal had taught his original squad. "Bal kote, darasuum kote, Jorso'ran kando a tome. Sa kyr'am Nau tracyn kad, Vode an. And glory, eternal glory, We shall bear its weight together. Forged like the saber in the fires of death, Brothers all."  
A spark came into the Jedi master's eyes then, before life left them altogether.  
"You did right, vod'ika," Hunter said from behind him.  
"He deserved more," Thirteen replied, grabbing the Jedi's lightsaber before standing up. Taking his vibroblade, he carefully carved the Jedi's name into the hilt before clipping it to his combat gear. "Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Bel Rof," he said. When he looked at Hunter, he saw a nod of approval. It made him feel better. "I remember all who leave."  
"One more thing, ner vod," Hunter said. He took out what looked like thermite tape from a pouch on his combat harness, but this was smaller and much thinner. Thirteen didn't move as his brother placed a transplas membrane on his left shoulder pauldron over hee bloody handprint Bel Rof had left on his left shoulder pauldron, then traced it with that odd thermite tape. Hunter triggered it, and there was a split-second bright flash. When Thirteen looked, he saw that the handprint had been literally sealed into his armor. Looking at his brother, he nodded.  
"Let's take him to the others," Hunter said, motioning for Thirteen to pick up the Jedi's body. Hunter took the lead, and decided to answer his brother's unasked questions. "Squad One-Thirty-Second didn't make it," he said sadly. "Their side of the larty took most of the impact. The commander made it, though, as did the rest of our brothers. More for you to remember."  
"To never be forgotten," Thirteen corrected. "The commander."  
"She's young," Hunter replied. "Inexperienced, even as a jetii. Uncertain. But Chief says she is like ti'haar, if you understand his meaning." Thirteen clicked his comm once to indicate he understood; according to Bel Rof, ti'haar was an alcholic drink distilled from fruits until it became a strong, clear spirit. Which was what Chief meant when he said that.  
"Tough?" he asked.  
"Like beskar."  
They remained silent until they reached the impromptu camp that had been set up in the shadow what was left of the gunship. Askara Jento came out to meet them, followed by Chief and the rest of Squad 1-17. Hunter and Thirteen gently and reverently laid down the fallen Jedi's body. Thirteen took Bel Rof's lightsaber off of his harness, hesitated slightly, then held out to the young padawan. She looked at it, then him, then back to the lightsaber. Reaching up, she gently pushed it back to him. Even she hadn't possessed the Force, Thirteen's surprise was evident.  
"Keep it," she said softly. "He would have wanted you to." She looked at her dead master. "Chief told me you are considered the squad's 'remembrancer', that you never forget the dead you know."  
"Always remembered, never to be forgotten," Thirteen said quietly. Hooking the lightsaber back to his harness, he was again surprised when she held out her hand. In it were eight namechips; the ones that were found on the front of clone armor. They only gave the clone's number, as that was how the Kaminoans saw them, but Thirteen could recall each name.  
"I got these for you, too," she whispered. He reached out and, one by one, took them and slipped them into a special compartment on his belt. "I'm too young for this," she said quietly, grabbing all eight of the clones' attention. "I know I am. I don't have any experience for a situation like this. All I can promise is to do my best." Chief doffed his helmet, and the other seven followed suit.  
"Ma'am," he said, meeting her gaze squarely, "that's all any of us can do."

They wouldn't leave their brothers, or Bel Rof, for the Seperatists to find, but they couldn't take them with them, nor did they have time to bury them. It was the padawan who came up with the suggestion. They placed all of the bodies in the wreckage of the gunship, set thermal detonators on the intact fuel tanks, and blew it into a crude but somehow fitting funeral pyre. Thirteen performed his ritual as the remnants of the gunship detonated, adding eight more names to his list. It was as they set out to link up with Republic forces on-planet that they got the transmission.  
"To all GAR personnel. We are withdrawing off-world. CIS forces are too strong for our current strength. We have called for reinforcements, but have no estimate on an arrival time. All GAR personnel are to fall back to Rally Point Alpha-Gamma-Sigma-Niner-Seven."  
Then the transmission repeated twice more before falling silent. Squad 1-17 looked at Chief, who in turn looked at the young padawan.  
"Commander?" he said.  
"What?" she asked, swallowing a lump in her throat.  
"Command has ordered us to fall back as part of a general retreat. But we will follow your orders, whatever they may be."  
"How can you have such faith in me? Such trust?" she asked. They all looked at Thirteen, and Askara followed suit. He simply reached up to touch Bel Rof's lightsaber. She seemed to understand the gesture, and nodded. To outsiders, the padawan's change in posture wouldn't have been very evident. But to clones who had been raised together, who had learned to interpret every minute gesture and facial change, it was as obvious as a flare in the dark. Her back straightened, her shoulders shifted back, and her expression hardened.  
"Buckets off," she said quietly. Not one of them questioned her; they removed their helmets. Looking each one of them in the eye, her gaze came to rest on Thirteen. He intuited her command before she spoke it, and straightened up, nodding to her. A faint smile appeared on her face as she said:  
"No falling back."

 

Special Tactics Squad 1-17  
"No Back-Up Needed"  
Formulca, Tarsis System

"We'll have to stick to short-range comms, Commander," Chief said, his helmet tucked under his arm. "SOP."  
"I . . . I guess that makes sense," Askara replied a little hesitantly.  
"Comm detection," Sabre spoke up. "Short-range tactical comms are hard to track and eavesdrop on."  
"Oh," the young padawan said as she realized what they both meant. "Okay, I get it. If we use the comms over long-distances, someone could, um . . ."  
"Triangulate, ma'am," Cryo suggested helpfully.  
"Right," she said sheepishly. "Someone could triangulate us. We should move out, right? I mean, someone probably saw the gunship go down, and then the explosion, so there probably are droids on the way."  
All eight of the clones were looking at her. Considering that she hadn't had any military training, and that she was - by her own admission - inexperienced in such matters, that was a rather astute and on-point observation.  
"Right, ma'am," Chief said. "Squad, buckets on." The eight clones put their helmets back on. "Check gear." Askara watched, entranced, as 'her' troopers reviewed their gear quickly yet efficiently. Chief, Sabre, and Falcon each carried what looked like a cut-down DC-15 as their primary weapon, it looked less bulky in addition to being shorter. Hunter carried a gun she wasn't familiar with. When he noticed her confused look, he said, "Ceejay-fifty concussion rifle. Good piece of kit." She simply nodded in answer. She was intensely curious about, but knew they didn't have the time for an explanation; Master Rof said her curiosity was both a blessing and a curse. Pillar, she saw, used a normal DC-15, but carried what she thought were explosives on his webbing. And probably in his pack, she realized. Cryo carried a grenade launcher of some kind, it seemed. Whacker carried an obvious weapon: a Z-6 rotary blaster, along with a DC-17 pistol. In fact, all of Squad 1-17 carried the DC-17. Thirteen, though, carried a pair of them, along with three vibroknives, a vibroblade, and a DC-17m with two attachments.  
"That's, um, that's a lot of weapons," Askara said hesitantly.  
"Each one has a story, ma'am," Thirteen replied quietly.  
"Would you tell me, later? If there's time?"  
The heavily-armed clone soldier looked up at her, and she could sense the slight smile he was wearing under that helmet. "If there's time," he agreed. Once the squad was finished inspecting their weapons, equipment, and supplies, they paired up into four two-man teams: Chief and Thirteen, Whacker and Sabre, Falcon and Hunter, and then Pillar and Cryo. Chief and Thirteen took point, Pillar and Cryo took rear, and the other two fire teams guarded the flanks; Askara decided to walk in the middle, since she only carried her lightsaber, which was useless in a long-range fight. I don't want to get any of them killed, she told herself. She drifted back until she was close to Pillar and Cryo.  
"What should I do?" she asked them.  
"Keep an eye out," Pillar suggested. Cryo agreed.  
"I imagine that your Jedi powers can find wets - organics - pretty good," he said.  
"Well, I'm still learning but I think I can do that," she said.  
"That's the spirit, Commander," Cryo reassured her.  
"I'll keep quiet until it's safe to talk," she replied, "since I don't have a bucket."  
The two clones nodded, a little more impressed with their young commnader. They looked at each other slightly then refocused their attention on their surroundings. She may be a kid, but she learns fast. Which she'll have to.

Thankfully, it had been after local sunset when 1-17, with their Jedi commander, had awakened and regrouped. When they moved out, it was full-dark, so the custom color configuration of the squad's armor blended in much easier than solid black would have. The only drawback was the brown and tan robes Askara wore. But she learned about moving stealthily from watching the clones, and she had sufficient control over the Force to actually hide herself from a person's awareness. Her squad could see her there, of course, but they found that they had to focus on her to remain aware of her; if they tried to keep her within their situational awareness, they found that it was almost like she wasn't there.  
"That's just creepy, ner vod," Hunter whispered.  
"I think it's kandosii," Falcon replied just as softly. They may have been wearing their helmets and using short-range comms, but training and old habits died hard. Up ahead, Thirteen stopped and raised a clenched fist. Everyone, including Askara, froze in place. Thirteen had been further ahead than Chief was, as he was the squad's main scout and had an instinct for walking point. He moved his arm horizontal to the ground and changed his hand to a flattened palm. Immediately, the whole squad scattered and hit the ground, although Askara was a second slower since she wasn't too familiar with the hand-signals the squad used. For a few minutes, no one heard anything. Then came the familiar clanking of battle droids.  
"Thirteen, numbers," Chief whispered. Thirteen didn't answer right away; he was moving closer to the droids to get the answer.  
"Double column, platoon strength," he whispered. "Wet present, Rodian."  
Askara crawled up to where Chief was lying. "What's going on?" she asked quietly.  
"Tinnies, Commander," he replied. At her blank look, he said, "Droids."  
"Will Thirteen be okay?" she asked. "Shouldn't we back him up?"  
"One moment, ma'am." Chief activated his comm. "Thirteen, heading."  
"Towards the pyre," he replied. "No sign the wet knows we're here."  
"Ma'am, we have a choice right now," Chief told her. "The droids are heading towards the crash site. We can either let them go and learn that there may have been survivors, or we can slot - kill - them now and avoid giving ourselves away."  
"Droids usually need a-a wet in charge, right?" Askara asked, trying to use their term for organics. Chief nodded.  
"If the patrol finds the crash site, we could be in trouble," she whispered slowly. "If we take them out now, the Seperatists will have to send a new patrol out, right?"  
"Troch," Chief replied. "Sorry, ma'am. It's mando'a for 'certainly.'"  
"I have a lot to learn, don't I?" she asked. Before he could answer, she said, "Let's take them down."  
"Yes, ma'am," he said. Then, to Thirteen, "Ner vod, kote."  
"Hukaat'kama," was the soft-spoken reply.  
"Darasuum," Chief whispered, echoed by their brothers. Without a word, they spread out into an ambush formation. Askara stuck close to Chief, even though she wouldn't be much good in a ranged fight. As she watched them move into position, she found herself envying them not only their certainty and trust in each other, but the sense of belonging she could pick up from them through the Force. I wish I had that with the other Jedi, she thought.  
"On your orders, ma'am," Chief whispered to her, startling her.  
"M-My orders? But . . . I'm not . . ."  
"Trust yourself, ma'am," he told her. "You have the Force."  
Like Thirteen, she could sense that he had faith in her, and trusted her not to let them down. Nodding, she took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. As she did, she cleared her mind and let her senses expand. She pinpointed where the squad was, where the Rodian commanding the droid platoon was at, and could, somewhat, sense the droids themselves. Everyone was all set and simply waiting for her order. She waited, letting the Force guide her.  
"Tracyn," she said softly, unconsciously speaking some mando'a she'd picked up from Master Rof. Though surprised, Chief obeyed the order and passed it to his brothers over their helmet comms. Immediately, a single shot rang out as Thirteen used his DC-17m's sniper attachment to take out the Rodian. The droids paused for a moment as their limited processors switched to an automatic mode. During that one moment, the rest of Squad 1-17 opened fire. Within seconds, half of the droids were destroyed or crippled. Thirteen switched to his twin DC-17 pistols and opened fire on the rest of the droids - from in their midst. Taking fire from five different directions now, the remaining droids lasted only a few moments longer than their comrades. Ejecting the spent power packs from his blasters, Thirteen hooked fresh ones in and holstered them. As he walked back to his brothers and commander, no one noticed the battle droid rising up behind him.  
But Askara did. Getting a split-second warning through the Force, she telekinetically shoved Thirteen out of the way as she threw her now-activated lightsaber through the space he'd been occupying. The glowing orange blade sank into the battle droid's plastron, causing it to shiver and tremble before collapsing back to the ground. All eight clones looked at their commander, then to the droid, and back to her.  
"Vor'e, vod'ika," Thirteen said.  
"Kandosii," Saber said softly.  
"With our vod'ika here," Pillar said, clapping an arm across Askara's shoulders, "there's no back-up needed."  
Chief nodded and held out a hand. Hesitantly grasping it, she returned the handshake he gave her.  
"Welcome to the squad, Commander," he said.

 

Special Tactics Squad 1-17  
"That's a Lot of Droids"  
Forumulca, Tarsis System

The squad didn't bother to police the area; the power packs for the droids' integral blasters weren't compatible with the squad's weapons. They did, however, check the area for any reinforcements. Finding none, as expected, they moved out.  
"I'm surprised you didn't insist on burying the wet, ma'am," Cryo said.  
"I . . . I didn't think . . . well, he would've tried to kill us, right?" Askara said, stammering. Pillar bumped her shoulder.  
"Don't worry about it, Aska'ika," he said. "You made a good decision, I think. That blaster fire could have been picked up by orbiting ships, so getting out of there quick was a smart tactical move."  
The padawan smiled. "Thanks," she said. "I just don't want to get any of you killed."  
"And we all appreciate that, Commander," Hunter put in. After that, though, everyone fell silent, more for avoiding notice than for a lack of anything to say. Even though Askara was a Jedi, she was unaware of Thirteen taking a protective stance towards her.  
"You seem fond of our little Commander, ner vod," Chief said to him over a private link.  
"I am," he replied.  
"Fine with me," Chief said nonchalantly.  
"You want to know why."  
"Of course. But it's up to you to share. We are brothers; you don't need to tell us."  
"She reminds me of Sask."  
"Your vode from your original squad."  
"Yes."  
"What happened wasn't your fault."  
Thirteen didn't say anything. He was paying attention to his surroundings, keeping a sharp eye out for anything that didn't seem to belong, but his thoughts were back to Kamino, and the training his clone company had undergone that had resulted in the deaths of twelve of his brothers.  
"Hey," Askara said, breaking the silence and getting everyone's attention. "There's a shelter over there."  
All they could see was a hill. But that didn't mean much.  
"Thirteen, Saber, check it out," Chief ordered. The two troopers moved out as quickly as silence would permit. A few minutes passed.  
"She's right, Chief," Saber reported back. "Getting heavy magnetic readings consistent with durasteel."  
"Life-signs?"  
"None," Thirteen reported. "Electronic emissions indicate zero signs of droids."  
"Good work, ma'am," Chief told her. "How did you know it was there?"  
"Well, the Force . . . said there was an emptiness there," she said shyly. "So I thought it might be a shelter?"  
"Good call," Falcon told her.  
"Do we get calls, too?" asked Whacker.  
"Who would call you?"  
"My mom?"  
"You don't have a mom, di'kut."  
"Sure I do. It was that control console outside of my tank."  
"And what makes you think that's your mom?"  
"It was always there."  
"Are they always like this?" Askara asked Chief.  
"Pretty much," he replied.

After a thorough inspection, it was discovered that not only was the shelter - for it was, indeed, an old storm shelter - but it was well-stocked with long-life preserved goods that were still a few decades away from expiring. Which meant that the clones had a feast, considering the quality of military rations. Cryo and Pillar opted to take the first watch duty outside of the shelter, though Askara did make sure they had some rations to eat first. While the other six clones - and their Jedi 'commander' sat down to eat their meal, Askara found herself next to Thirteen.  
"Are you okay?" she asked.  
"Commander?"  
"I'm . . . well, I'm getting feelings of sorrow, loss, and regret from you," she told him. "Would . . . would you like to talk about it?"  
"You . . . you want to know?" Thirteen was surprised, to say the least.  
"If you want to talk about it," Askara replied. "I promise, no Force compulsion or anything."  
"I lost twelve brothers, back on Kamino," Thirteen said softly. "It was during training."  
"In training?" she asked, shocked.  
"Live fire training," he explained. "It's all we ever did, when we were training. If it was combat training, live ammunition was used."  
"How . . . how horrible," the Jedi girl said.  
"One of my brothers and I were close," he went on, disassembling a DC-17 and cleaning it. "We called him Sask. Normal clones . . . we don't have the quality of equipment available to commandos and ARCs, so we're more dependent upon each other. Plus we're supposed to be more obedient."  
"Supposed to be?"  
"My company was . . . different. We were closer to the commando squads than standard troopers, personality-wise. Maybe because Kal Skirata, a Mando warrior, was our main drill sergeant." He paused, recalling the details. "That day, my company was undergoing urban combat training. We were surprised, and my platoon was cut off from the rest of the company. An ambush by the instructors and combat droids killed three of my squadmates right in front of me. Two more died as we cleared a building to use as a temporary base to regroup. Another one died from a sniper as we exited the building. Another three were killed trying to push through a hardpoint to link up with the rest of the company." Askara didn't say anything; she just waited for him to continue. "Two more died when a thermal detonator landed between them," he went on. "Sask was the last to die. It would've been me, or I at least would have been the next casualty, except Sask placed himself in harm's way to get me out of the line of fire. Watching him take hit after hit, refusing to move himself out of the way . . . it got to me. As soon as I was in cover, he finally collapsed. He didn't give in to his injuries; he just kept himself going long enough to get me out of there." He finished cleaning his pistol and reassembled it in less than a minute. "I lost it; I picked up his deece-fifteen along with my own, and charged back out into the line of fire."  
"And obviously you survived," Askara noted.  
"Yes, ma'am," Thirteen replied. "I was hyped up on adrenaline and combat; I don't remember much of my actions then. When it was all over, my performance was evaluated. I had destroyed a company of combat droids - and five of the non-clone drill instructors. Head shots on them. My behavior, though, was outside of the norm for a 'normal' clone trooper. The Kaminoans wanted to 'correct my deviancy'. But Sergeant Skirata wouldn't let them. He said I could still be useful. And they listened to him. The Kaminoans were the one thing all of us clones feared, and Sergeant Skirata made them listen to him. Then he made me Mando. He put me with a new company, and told me that one day I would be needed for more than what I was doing then. He asked me what my squad called me. I told him that it didn't matter now. That clone had died during the exercise. 'So what's your name now?' he asked me. I told him that it was Thirteen - since I was the thirteenth casualty of my platoon."  
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. Rather than move it away, he reached up and laid his hand on hers. "And . . . is that when you began collecting the armor tallies?" He nodded.  
"I never forget those who have died," he said, reiterating his words from before. Looking at her, he added, "And you remind me of Sask."  
"Wh-what?" she stammered.  
"Ever since you began coming with Bel'buir on our missions, I would see Sask in your actions, in your words." He looked away. "I don't want to fail a vode again."  
"You won't," she said with unnatural certainty.  
"That is something that cannot be promised."  
"It isn't a promise," she told him, "it is the Force."

Later, when Thirteen went on his watch with Hunter, Chief came over and sat down next to Askara.  
"That was a good thing you did, Commander," he said.  
"I . . . I was only doing the right thing," she said, a little embarrassed. "He . . . he was hurting, and I just wanted to help."  
"You did, ma'am," he told her. "He has a different feel to him now."  
"All I did, really, was listen."  
"No, ma'am, you did more."  
"What do you mean, Chief?"  
"You cared."

Once night had fallen again, the squad moved out. Askara was getting better at moving as stealthily as the squad did, and her Force senses proved to be a valuable asset. Three times, they managed to avoid patrolling droids because she sensed either the organic commander, or local fauna fleeing their approach. They were still heading towards the Sep base that was their original objective. Askara, during one of the short breaks they took to replenish fluids, suggested that they bunker down for another day, so it would still be dark when they reached the base. Once again, she showed that she had an instinctive grasp of tactical situations - or the Force was talking to her. Whichever it was, the squad decided to help nurture and hone the skill.  
When they reached the base, they took the approach slow and carefully. Darting from cover to cover, they reached a 'short' cliff overlooking the base. And when they looked down upon the base, they were greeted by a sight that made their task seem impossible. Thousands of droids stood by or marched in formation. Some were heading out on whatever patrol they were programmed to do, others were coming in.  
No one said anything. Until Falcon deadpanned: "That's a lot of droids."  
"Well, look at the bright side," Saber said.  
"There's a bright side?"  
"Isn't there always?"  
"We only need one big bomb to drop from here," Askara said, stealing Saber's punchline.  
"I was going to say that," he said.  
"I said it first, though," she replied.  
"But it was my joke."  
"You're too slow."  
"Says who?  
"The punchline."  
"So what's the plan now, Commander?" Chief asked.  
"We could always walk in the front door," she suggested. "After all, wouldn't you expect a missing squad of special ops clones to do something sneaky like going in through the back or the side?"  
"The front door is the last place they'd expect us to come in," Whacker agreed. Then he gestured. "And look: some of those fancy spec ops droids."  
"You know, they look just like you, Whacker," Hunter said.  
"That means they look like you, too, di'kut," he replied.  
"No, I'm better looking than you."  
"Alright, can it, you two," Chief said. "Let's figure out just how we're going to walk in the front door."

 

Special Tactics Squad 1-17  
"Is There A Plan B?"  
Seperatist Base,  
Formulca, Tarsis System

They back away from the cliff edge, and scouted around for some cover. Finding some in an abandoned cave a couple of kilometers away from the cliff. Whatever local creature had lived in her was long since gone; Askara had to use her lightsaber to cut away the heavy growth from the entrance, and then widen that entrace. It would have been obvious to even a droid that someone had taken up residence, but then Askara demonstrated her growing awareness of special operations: she carefully cut up more branches and vines, then used the Force to bring them over to the entrance.  
"Good idea, Commander," Chief said, nodding in approval. "You learn fast."  
"I have to," she replied quietly. "My master's dead, and I'm not about to get any of you killed. Learn or die." Tactfully, none of the squad said anything about how that was standard for clone training.  
"Bel'buir was a rare man," Thirteen said, just as quietly. Then he pulled out one of his pistols and proceeded to clear the cave, with help from Pillar. Then Pillar came out and motioned the others to come in. Askara made sure she was the last one in, so she could use the Force to arrange the vines, branches, and other assorted vegetation over the cave entrance in as natural a way as possible. Once that was done, she turned around to find that all but one of squad - Sabre - had removed their helmets. At her look, Chief thought she was curious about Sabre and said, "It's to monitor for Republic comms."  
"I wish I could help out with that," Askara said, a little sad.  
"Don't worry about it, ma'am," Falcon told her, smiling. "You're our 'wets-radar;' monitoring comms is the least we can do."  
"I know you're just trying to cheer me up," she said, smiling at him gratefully. "But I can't help feeling a little useless."  
"Can't really understand that, ma'am," Pillar put in. "You got us going after the crash, you helped out with the ambush on the tinnies, and you found that shelter we were in last night. How is that useless?"  
"I can't sense droids," she replied, "and I'm not much good at long-range."  
"Here," Thirteen said, holding out his DC-17m. "I only use the sniper and grenade attachments, in addition to the normal blaster setting. Sorry you can't practice with it; we only have a limited number of power packs."  
The young padawan carefully took the weapon and examined it. "Then I guess I'll have to get it right the first time," she said.

A few hours later, Askara was working on breaking down, cleaning and rebuilding the DC-17m, with Thirteen showing her how. Pillar and Whacker were sitting near the cave's entrance, buy'cese on, monitoring the outside. Chief, Cryo, Sabre, Falcon, and Hunter were resting in some fashion: either sleeping, 'kicking back,' or just doing something they found relaxing. The Jedi-in-training found that she had a knack for the kit, which surprised her considering how most Jedi felt about blaster weapons. Thirteen was also teaching her Mando'a, the language of the Mandalorians that had trained a large number of the clones. But it wasn't just the language he was teaching her; it was the culture itself, and what it meant to be Mando.  
Hunter, who had been running a test his helmet's electronics, looked over at the two. "Let me know if I'm out of line, Commander," he said, "but you seem unusually interested in Mandalorians. And it's got to be for some reason more than that we're your squad and it's how we were raised."  
"Well, you're right, Hunter," she replied, looking up from the blaster rifle to meet his eyes. "Like you, I never had a choice about what I was to be; my path was chosen for me. Unlike you, though, I never had anyone who looked after me - until Master Bel Rof took me as his padawan." She smiled sadly. "He gave me my first look at the universe beyond the Temple."  
"So he was like Sergeant Kal?"  
"Not . . . exactly," she told him. "From what I've learned about him from you guys, I think your sergeant and my master would've gotten along pretty well; Master Rof had a very low tolerance for the politicking that is now typical of the Jedi and especially the Council. He didn't like Masters Kenobi or Windu very much."  
"Neither did Sergeant Kal," Thirteen spoke up.  
"Master Rof always spoke highly of Mandalorians," Askara said. "He always felt ashamed at the way the Jedi treated them, both those in the past and those today."  
"He always told us that the Mandalorians could teach the Jedi a lot about pragmatism and common sense - if the jetii would come down from their high and self-righteous perches," Falcon put in.  
"'The Jedi of today are too concerned with doing the light thing rather than the right thing'," she said, making certain to let the clones know she was quoting. Thirteen chuckled, drawing everyone's attention to him.  
"It's true," he said, "which is also what makes it amusing."  
"I don't think anyone's heard you laugh before, ner vod," Chief said, his eyes still closed.  
"To get back to your question, Hunter," Askara said, "I'm ashamed of being a jetii. Not just because of how the Order's changed over the past few decades and centuries, but also because of how they're treating clones like you. Ever since the jetii learned about the clone army, only a ori small amount questioned the 'sudden' appearance of what is now called the Grand Army of the Republic. Everyone else, including the 'vaunted' Obi-Wan Kenobi and the 'wise' Master Yoda, simply accepted it. Not one of them knows you as individuals, as men. Some of padawans I know think of you as 'wet droids,' that since you were made for figthing and warfare you don't know that there's a whole universe being denied you."  
"That's typical of mongrels, though," Hunter said. "They like to ignore things that may make their view of the universe uncomfortable."  
"I'm a mongrel," she said, but every all eight troopers shook their heads.  
"You may not be a clone," Chief said, opening his eyes and looking at the young padawan, "but you're our vod'ika."  
"And if Order Sixty-Six were ever given?" she asked softly. "I studied the contigency orders on the trip to the Tarsis System. Would you follow that order if it was given."  
"Were we to be around a Jedi if that order was ever given, then yes," Cryo said, putting a little emphasis on 'Jedi.'

Askara had fallen asleep an hour before - after a strong 'suggestion' from Chief. She kept the DC-17m near her; a fact which set all of the clones at ease.  
"Certainly a strange Jedi," Falcon noted.  
"What's normal for a Jedi?" Sabre retorted.  
"What's normal, period?" Cryo put in.  
"Should we be worried about the commander?" Hunter mused.  
"What do you mean?" Falcon asked.  
"Well, she really seems to be diving in to the Mandalorian thing," he said.  
"That isn't a problem, though."  
"I don't think I've heard of a Force-using Mandalorian."  
"They wouldn't put a notice on the Holonet if they were, di'kut," Falcon said. "Sergeant Kal always said that when you became Mando, you started over. If the commander wants to be Mando, why should we stop her?"  
"She's worried about Order Sixty-Six," Cryo reminded them. "But I don't think her interest in Mandalorian has anything to do with that. It seems to me that she just wants something to belong to."  
"But she's part of the Jedi Order," Sabre said.  
"Part of it," Cryo said, "but she doesn't belong to it. She did say that Bel'buir was the only one who was close to her. And he died. We've known other Jedi. Most of them are like Kenobi; is it any wonder she doesn't want to stay with that?"  
"And she's only a kid," Falcon added. "Think about that, too."

It was the middle of Formulca's night when STS 1-17 made it back to the cliff overlooking the Seperatist base. They were there for one last recon before making any definitive plans for infiltrating the base. Unfortunately for them, the Seperatists had made some changes.  
"Osik," Chief said, examining the increased defenses through the macros built into his helmet.  
"Armored Assault Tanks," Pillar said neutrally. "SBDs, spider droids . . . . and I think there's a Hellfire droid near the command bunker, too."  
"That's not good," Askara deadpanned.  
"Do I ever get to tell the punchline?" Falcon quipped.  
"If you don't have to be told it, sure," the commander replied. "There's some more wets, too. A couple of them are unusually disciplined."  
"Force thing?" Whacker asked.  
"Force thing," she confirmed.  
"I just have one question, then," Falcon said.  
"What's that?"  
"Is there a Plan B?"

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a work in progress right now.


End file.
